I'm sitting at the bean at Ave right now. My roommate and I decided to come over here and get out of our room so she could do some work, and I could finally blog. One thing creepy about the BEAN and the rest of the atmosphere in this terrifying town is the music that continuously plays. They play all oldies and elevator music 24/7, and it gets pretty scary when you're walking back from the Pub all alone and the only thing accompanying you are the sounds of deceased pianists. Anyway, I realized why I strangely like elevator music. When we were little, my mother would take us to Nordstroms in the Westchester mall a couple times a year to get all of our clothes for that season. It's also where we did all of our Easter shopping. The classy elevator music would be playing throughout the mall, and when Kate, Mad, Jame and I would hide in the dressing rooms, this would be the music that was playing. We were classy little tyrants, as much as my parents thought we were devilish kids, I still haven't met kids who were as classy as we were. For some reason this music triggers this posture in me, and an urge to brush my hair. It's almost as if I was trained to be that classy little Connecticut angle my parents always dreamed I'd turn out to be. Thoughts of going shopping at Nordstroms are somewhat nostalgic for me, I think because they usually happened in the fall. I can remember the scents of the perfumes as we walked in, the fur hats on the mannequins for sale, and the 'nordies' we used to get for free for behaving while we tried on shoes. I can remember the men in suits helping us find what we needed, and going to that restaurant that used to be inside the store. I specifically remember ordering a grilled cheese. I remember walking in with it being light out, then walking out in the night, and the long car rides back with my mom playing Broadway show tunes in the vehicle. Haha, and we would always put on a fashion show for my dad when we got back, displaying our new dresses, school shoes to match our private school uniforms. I miss being classy. I miss being young and happy and mold-able.
I bet my parents miss it too.